Amnesia Arena
by sour gummies
Summary: Avengers Arena rewrite, non-chronological. When Arcade abducts his teen Murderworld contestants, he also wipes their memories to liven up the game…but he never expected the ensuing soap opera to be more entertaining than the game itself. CHAPTER 2: Misunderstanding the Sentinel's intentions, X-23 grabs Juston and finds a place to hide, despite not knowing why she even bothers.
1. Start Over

a/n: Yeah, I know, I know, having two writing projects going on in November sort of defeats the purpose of NaNoWriMo entirely. But, I just finished _Avengers Arena_ and couldn't help but think that such an incredible cast of characters was completely wasted on a premise where three-fourths of them have to die off by default in eighteen short issues.

So we're having a do-over. With less death-match, and more slice-of-life amnesia island shenanigans. Because I say so.

* * *

**DAY 1**

"Ahem...wake up.

"Don't bother trying to move or talk. You've been sleeping while I got you all cleaned and prepped. Today is a very special day, after all...

"You're probably wondering who you are. What you're doing here. Dangling up there with a bunch of other teenagers who are just as confused and terrified as you are."

_RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE_

"Ooh...now there's molten rock lava?

"I'd like to think there'd be **screaming** if I let you. But it's better that you can't. I have a lot of things to explain in a short amount of time, and I can't have any of you teenage superheroes interrupting me while I try to explain the rules of your new life.

"Who is the badass boogeyman with the godlike powers and the volcano elevator? And did he say _teenage superheroes?_ Now who could they be?

"Of course you wouldn't know. Then again, maybe you would know of _me_, at least—the only memories I let you keep are the ones that have nothing to do with you personally. I wanted to add an element of unpredictability to things this time around. See who all my contestants really are without the baggage from the past weighing them down. Let the real you out, without having to worry about what anyone else will think. The **you** you keep crammed down deep where nobody else can see.

"For anyone who guessed...

"I am Arcade. And make no mistake, children, there's a reason I don't wear a mask with my pretty white suit like some _other_ villains you might remember. There are no villains in Murderworld—that's where you are, by the way. There's only the sixteen of you here, and I am your **god**. I control your motor functions, your bodies, even your breathing if I so choose. I hung you from my ceiling.

"My world is where you have been born again, and where you shall meet your end.

"Don't bother trying to escape. There's no leaving Murderworld once you're in. At least, not for most of you.

"But we'll get into that later. As far as you're concerned right now, you just need to understand that _is_ no outside world, and no means of reaching it even if there were. You're completely cut off. Nobody is coming to get you. Trust me, even if they knew—or cared—who you were, they'd have no idea where to look.

"You want food? You want water? Medicine? It's all here, but you have to fight for it. There might not be enough for everyone, and besides, it's not like you know anyone else stuck in here floating in the sky with you. If you ever did, those memories are all mine now.

"Better to get a fresh start, I always say. For you _and_ for me. 'Every man for himself' is the name of the game here. You can try to make some new friends if you want, but there's really no point to it. Like I said before, once the game _really_ gets underway, the less friends you have, the better. Look around. How many of these people would you trust with your life? For all you know, they could be cold-blooded killers! Then again, so could you...

"Those of you who have been paying attention will notice the little holo-screens in front of you with your names or aliases projected on them. That's all you get. Any other information is strictly classified for now. Makes it more interesting, don't you think?

"Some of you are probably thinking _why me?_ There's a lot of different reasons. Fate. Luck of the draw. My own sick amusement. I like to make a game with other people's lives, and you're this week's lucky winners. It doesn't really matter why.

"What matters is that all of you have something that makes you special. Something unique, and highly entertaining. Your powers and abilities may or may not be obvious right off the bat, but for your own sake I _do_ hope you figure it out soon. If you want to survive long enough to play the game, that is.

"I'd really love to stay and chat a little longer, but I think it's high time you got acquainted with all the people you'll be spending the rest of your lives with! And you'd better not make it boring. The more bored I am, the sooner the game starts.

"And when the game starts, you all start _dying_. So enjoy your little reprieve while it lasts.

"I'll leave the sixteen of you to it."

He snaps his fingers and disappears.

The figures hovering in the air abruptly drop out of it—some gracefully, some not. All sixteen land on the ground without getting hurt.

Then they start to get up. Stand. Look at one other, warily. Total silence reigns in the circle for a long, tense moment.

Nobody has a goddamn clue what happens next.


	2. Torn

**DAY 1**

**53 MINUTES AFTER ARCADE'S WELCOME SPEECH**

A small alcove crumbled out from shallow cracks in the rock walls of the cliffside is not what X-23 would call an ideal shelter—either from the icy elements battering the quadrant, or the Mark IV Sentinel that will doubtless pursue her and Juston here as soon as it has completed its repairs. The inadequacy of the location and its security festers at the corners of her mind, like a badly healed wound in need of reopening, but there's nothing she can do to change it now.

Juston can't be moved in his current condition, not without risking more damage to his broken right leg. Getting him this far was already pressing their luck. The limited medical knowledge in X-23's arsenal won't be of much use to Juston, if his injuries sustain further damage. The most she can do for him, in the short-term, is to set his broken leg and make a splint.

"Take off your vest," she demands as soon as she's propped the boy upright against the flattest part of the stone wall, with both his legs laid out in front of him. "I need to make a wrap, to bandage your injury."

Juston only stares at her, tears running down his face in pitiful incomprehension. His whole body is trembling.

"I-Isn't there like, ah, a-ahn-n...n..._any_ other way t-to do it?" he stammers helplessly after a moment, teeth chattering so badly they render him nearly incapable of speech. "It's s-so damn c-c-cold in here already. P-Please?"

She looks at him, appraising. All he wears beneath his padded vest is a thin white T-shirt and cargo pants, both of which are ripped in places from his panicked sprint throughout the woods. The protection isn't much, she acknowledges, but even without the vest the material of his outfit still covers far more skin than hers.

The freezing air in the alcove isn't cold enough to present any immediate risk of hypothermia. Leaving the fractured leg exposed is a greater danger to his survival.

"No. Take it off," she repeats, this time less patiently. If she or Juston want this done at all, they don't have any time to waste on trivialities.

With a hiccuping sob, Juston complies, struggling through his shivering and agony to remove the vest. He flinches violently but doesn't protest a second later, when X-23 tears off the lower half of his right pants-leg in order to expose his injury.

"Be still," she tells him flatly, working mentally at light-speed to map out everything she needs to do. Juston shudders wordlessly and nods.

She gets to work.

X-23 moves quickly, stripping away the outer material of Juston's vest and removing the padding within for use as a makeshift liner. As she suspected, there's enough of the thick, cottony material to securely bundle the length of Juston's lower-right leg.

Juston cries and gnashes his teeth the entire time she works, and more than once his sobbing becomes so intense that X-23 believes she's done something to exacerbate his injury. However, he merely shakes his head every time she asks, acknowledging her with a guttural moan of apology and telling her to keep going, fairly begging to just get this whole ordeal done and over with.

She nods and does as he asks. Juston's crying bothers her, even though X-23 does not fully understand why_; _however, contemplating it now is a pointless waste of time.

When the injury is covered well enough to be stable—the pattern of bruises on Juston's skin seems indicative a hairline fracture, not a proper break, meaning she won't have to worry about resetting the bone—X-23 ties the remaining fabric pieces around his splint, tightly as she dares without causing any further damage. The addition of a bit of extra material torn from her own black, insulated leggings, secures the wrap as much as it'll ever be. She fastens the cloth, bandage-like, over the outermost layer of the splint, and reluctantly acknowledges that's probably as good as it's going to get.

The finished result isn't as thorough as she'd prefer, but X-23 can do no better in the absence of proper medical supplies. She supposes Juston ought to be lucky that she knew any of this first aid-type to begin with.

"It's finished," she finally says out loud, pointlessly repeating what she already knows for Juston's sake. His eyes have been screwed tightly shut for some long minutes now, apparently too afraid to watch what she's been doing.

Even after this pronouncement, he seems reluctant to acknowledge her work: a few tense moments pass before Juston finally, painstakingly opens his eyes. The teen forces trembling lids apart to reveal teary, dark green irises, rimmed with red from crying. Juston evaluates X-23 with a vulnerable, unguarded expression of mingled fear and gratitude that honestly catches her off-guard. Whatever sort of person X-23 was before today, she doesn't feel like she's used to people staring at her like _that_. Like they're expecting her to reciprocate some spectrum of emotion she doesn't understand.

She says nothing, waiting for him to break the silence.

"Th-Thank you," Juston finally says weakly, wrapping both arms around himself with another shuddering sob. And this despite the fact that he's trying to smile at her. "For—you know, d-doing this. You saved my life. Although I guess, if that _thing_ comes back for me...well..."

He trails off, looking miserable again. X-23 doesn't request an elaboration, understanding full well the implication behind his words. The only feasible way to relocate them both now, to a place safe from the Sentinel's next attack, would be to disregard Juston's health and safety in the process, or else simply abandon him to inevitable death. For the dozenth time since X-23 woke up in this inhospitable place, she wonders to herself why she doesn't do exactly that.

Juston serves no purpose to her continued survival. He appears to possess few, if any, viable skills, and the only thing that sets him apart from an ordinary human is that he's inexplicably the prime target of a weaponized, mutant-hunting Sentinel. A Sentinel that wants X-23, whom it identified as a "dangerous mutant," dead. X-23 doesn't know Juston at all, doesn't believe that she really cares to—perhaps she knew him once, in another life, before the villain called Arcade stole her memories and the other captives' for his own amusement. But even if such memories did exist at some point, they have no bearing on her current predicament.

The smart thing for her to do would be to simply exit the tiny cave now, and leave Juston to the mercy of the Sentinel and the elements. With one leg broken and no discernible powers, Juston will not be able to help X-23 if their situation comes to a battle again. Juston has proven himself incapable of even helping himself. He is worse than useless; he's a liability. Juston could very easily get her killed in here.

But for whatever reason, X-23 has already resigned herself to stay. She didn't flee the first time, when Juston was trapped at the mercy of the machine that cut off his escape at every turn. At the time, X-23's intention had been merely to watch the other captives from a distance, avoiding any involvement with the others until she had a better idea of where they stood in terms of threat-level to her. But when the Sentinel's robotic hand reached down to seize Juston in the woods, as the other teen cowered helplessly and screamed...X-23 acted without thinking.

Running out of hiding on some unidentifiable, irresistible impulse, she leapt for the Sentinel and attacked. She saved Juston's life. Even now, X-23 doesn't understand _why_. The battle had at least been instructive, revealing some of the shadowy unknowns in her personal arsenal of powers and capabilities: the discovery of a mutant healing factor, metal-sheathed claws, and fluid combat skill on her part had been well worth any temporary suffering. Which was fortunate, given that she'd sustained more wounds than an ordinary human would hope to survive.

Attacking the Sentinel was recklessly foolish in hindsight, she understands. But if the robot had come away from their encounter with mild enough damages to be quickly self-repaired, so too did X-23.

She bought herself and Juston enough time to escape. She hauled the other teen to the closest Murderworld quadrant outside the forest, the steep-walled mountain range, and she tended to his injuries. She was the only one to even try. The other combatants had fled the Sentinel without much prompting, and left Juston for dead.

For better or worse, X-23 knows that he is now her permanent responsibility. She does not know why she stays with Juston, any more than she knows why the Sentinel is after him, or why he or any of the other children are trapped here in Murderworld at Arcade's mercy. X-23's rational mind cannot make any sense of her situation. Nothing that has happened here since she woke up lends itself to any sense of rhyme or reason.

Maybe that's why she doesn't protest, when she and Juston eventually end up huddled next to one another in the cramped alcove. The younger boy passes out quickly after she finishes the splint, his shivering form curling unconsciously closer and closer to hers the longer he sleeps—to be nearer to the only source of body heat, or perhaps for another reason she cannot hope to truly understand. X-23 herself doesn't attempt to sleep in such a vulnerable position, not trusting Juston any more than she desires to kill him. If she is to be _foolish_ in her actions during this game, she will not allow herself to be utterly senseless as well.

But she waits patiently with Juston for the other boy to finish recovering, listening vigilantly for any sounds of the Sentinel or other combatants outside their cave. She struggles with herself, to reconcile the threats waiting for her nearby with the current position (both literal and metaphorical) that she has found herself trapped in by her own design.

This is not optimal. It is scarcely even tolerable.

But still: X-23 allows it.


End file.
